Homeport

through syrup, but she walked, intensely focused on the gleaming doors of the elevators. That was her goal, she thought. She just had to walk to the elevator.
    Dimly she heard Ryan talking with the desk clerk, a rumble of male laughter. She stared at the door, reached out and ran her fingertip down the surface as if to gauge the texture. So smooth and cool. Odd, she’d never noticed that before. She laid her palm on it as Ryan came up beside her and pushed the up button.
    It rumbled, like the thunder, she realized. Gears shifting, engaging. And the door made a soft hissing sound when it opened.
    She didn’t have any more color in her cheeks than the corpse they’d left behind, Ryan noted. And her teeth were starting to chatter. He imagined she was chilled to the bone. God knew he was, and not just from an open ride in drenching rain.
    “Just walk down the hall,” he ordered, shifting his bags so that he could wrap an arm around her waist. She didn’t lean on him, didn’t seem to have enough substance in her body to give weight, but he kept his arm around her until they were inside the suite.
    He locked the door, added the safety latch before taking her into the bedroom. “Get out of the wet clothes, into a robe.” He’d have preferred to dump her in a hot bath, but was afraid she’d just slip under and drown.
    He checked the terrace doors, made certain they too were locked before he searched out a bottle of brandy from the minibar. He didn’t bother with glasses.
    She was sitting on the bed, exactly as he’d left her. “You’ve got to get out of those clothes,” he told her. “You’re soaked through.”
    “I— My fingers don’t work.”
    “Okay, okay. Here, swallow.”
    He broke the seal on the bottle, then held it to her lips. She obeyed mindlessly, until the fire spurted down her throat and into her belly. “I don’t like brandy.”
    “I don’t like spinach, but my mother made me eat it. One more time. Come on, be a good soldier.” He managed to pour another swallow down her throat before she sputtered and pushed his hand away.
    “I’m all right. I’m all right.”
    “Sure you are.” Hoping to ease the queasiness in his own stomach, he tipped back the bottle and took a healthy gulp himself. “Now the clothes.” He set the bottle aside and went to work on the buttons of her shirt.
    “Don’t—”
    “Miranda.” Realizing his legs weren’t completely steady, he sat beside her. “Does it look like I’m going to cop a feel here? You’re in shock. You need to get warm and dry. So do I.”
    “I can do it. I can.” She got shakily to her feet and stumbled into the bath.
    When the door clicked shut, he resisted the urge to open it again to be certain she wasn’t in a heap on the floor.
    For a moment he lowered his head into his hands, ordered himself to breathe, just breathe. It was his first up-close and personal experience with violent death. Fresh, violent, and real, he thought, and took one more shot of brandy from the bottle.
    It wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat.
    “I’m going to order up some food. Something hot.” He peeled out of his wet jacket as he spoke. Keeping an eye on the door, he stripped, tossed his wet clothes aside, and pulled on slacks and a shirt.
    “Miranda?” With his hands in his pockets, he frowned at the door. Modesty be damned, he decided, and pushed it open.
    She’d put on a robe, but her hair was still streaming with wet as she stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped tight around her body as she rocked herself. She sent Ryan one look of unspeakable misery. “Giovanni.”
    “Okay, all right.” He put his arms around her, cradled her head on his shoulder. “You did good, you did fine. It’s okay to fall apart now.”
    She only clenched and unclenched her hands against his back. “Who could have done that to him? He’s never hurt anyone. Who could have done that?”
    “We’ll figure it out. We will. We’re going to talk about it, step by step.” He cuddled her closer, stroking a hand down her wet hair as much to soothe himself as her. “But your mind has to be clear. I need your brain. I need your logic.”

    “I can’t think. I keep seeing him, lying there. All the blood. He was my friend. He came when I asked him to. He. . .”
    And the full horror of it struck her, a brutal slice to the heart that cleared her head to shocking, vicious clarity. “Oh God, Ryan. I killed him.”
    “No.” He pulled her back so